This journey, dear prophet, is not a detour—it is the map. The breaking is not accidental; it is surgical. You are not in delay; you are in design. The fire you feel is not sent to consume you, but to crystallize what heaven hid inside you before time’s clock began to tick. God is not pampering you with comfort—He is piercing you with purpose. This is not a setback; it is sacred shaping. You are being refined not because you are weak, but because the mantle you are called to carry is weighty.
According to spiritual patterns rarely taught in the noise of pulpits, it takes nothing less than fifteen years to form a prophet—a full-blown vessel sharpened in silence, disciplined in secrecy, and crushed without applause. God never rushes what He intends to last. Prophets are not mass-produced on stages; they are slow-cooked in caves. You are not late—you are being layered. Each rejection, each season of divine silence, each misunderstood obedience is not wasted. It is the wilderness that teaches prophets the language of Heaven. And until you can carry revelation without bleeding pride, you remain in the fire.
You’ve cried, “Why this weight?” But prophets are not measured by ease—they are measured by endurance. The fire doesn’t burn what you are—it burns what you’re not. It melts the counterfeit, and sculpts the eternal. You are not being prepared to impress crowds, but to echo eternity. Prophets are Heaven’s instruments; and before you can shift nations, Heaven must know you won’t shift the message. No compromise. No ego. No glory-thief shall ascend the sacred hill. If your motives are mixed, the mantle will crush you. So the fire lingers. Not as punishment, but as purification.
It is here—in the furnace of affliction—that you are proven. Not before men, but before the throne. God watches not how loud you prophesy, but how long you remain hidden without murmuring. The stretching is the sifting. The pain is the proving. The silence is where prophets are sealed. This is why the warfare is relentless—because the assignment is rare. The longer the process, the purer the prophet. For what is birthed in fifteen years cannot be mimicked by the microwave culture of instant platforms and viral prophecy. God hides what He intends to use greatly. He delays what He intends to trust deeply.
So linger no longer at the door of self-pity. You are not abandoned—you are being authenticated. The oil you carry cannot be rushed, for its fragrance must first pass through the crushing. Where you are going, God needs you clean, not clever; broken, not boastful; obedient, not
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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